


you know that you wanna go

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Bottom Nakamoto Yuta, M/M, Nakamoto Yuta-centric, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, my deepest and sincerest apologies, what's a little f—physical intimacy between friends?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26072845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Yuta has more than enough love to go around.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Nakamoto Yuta/Everyone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70
Collections: Anonymous





	you know that you wanna go

It’s the few seconds of silence between one song and the next that give Winwin away.

Yuta is sprawled across his mattress, the blanket kicked down to the foot of the bed. The AirPods and the bedtime playlist put on the lowest volume possible are his antidote to the late summer heat that’s been suppressing his ability to fall asleep. With his limbs akimbo and his tank top rucked up to his chest, he’s almost comfortable enough to tip towards unconsciousness.

And then his music fades, and he can hear Winwin breathing like he’s just spent an hour trying to perfect one of his flips.

Immediately concerned, Yuta tugs his AirPods out and turns to Winwin’s bed. “Winwin?” he asks.

And if Yuta’s brain had just been a little less fuzzy with sleep, he probably would’ve registered what Winwin breathing like that meant—or he would’ve also noticed the rhythmic scuff of sheets against sheets, skin against skin—before opening his mouth.

But it hadn’t, and he didn’t, and now he’s face to face with Winwin, who’s curled up on his side and burrowed under his sheets. His hair is mussed, eyes wide and glossy. And he looks frustrated, too, brow furrowed, but his cheeks are red, and his lips are parted.

The noises stop.

Ah. Oops.

Yuta opens his mouth, then closes it again when he realizes that he has no idea what to say.

It’s not like the concept of having needs is foreign to any of them, but they don’t tend to catch each other in the act a lot. Even when it happens, the unspoken agreement is that neither person shall acknowledge the other upon pain of mutual humiliation. Or, barring that, the pain of aggravated assault and battery.

Frankly, Yuta’s shocked that Winwin hasn’t vaulted over to strangle him into voluntary amnesia yet, but that probably has something to do with how he doesn’t seem able to extract either of his arms out of his blanket cocoon.

It did sound like he was having trouble before Yuta interrupted him, but Yuta doesn’t think he’ll appreciate any comment on that either.

Surprisingly, Winwin manages to string some words together first. “Yuta-hyung...” he starts weakly, before trailing off.

Yes, well. What can either of them say here anyway?

Winwin presses his lips together, his expression a combination of mortification and aggravation. It makes him look so much like a sulking puppy that Yuta can’t help but immediately tell him, “It’s okay.”

And it is, really. The situation may be uncomfortable, but Winwin has nothing to be embarrassed about. Yuta stretches and places his AirPods on the nightstand, then goes back to sprawling on the bed so that Winwin can see how not-uncomfortable he is.

Then—and maybe it’s because of some innate curiosity or because he’s feeling warm and drowsy or because he wants Winwin to get a good night’s sleep even if he’s especially cute when he’s grumpy—Yuta glances back at Winwin and asks, “Do you want some help?”

A pause.

Winwin’s eyes widen.

Yeah. Yuta’s a bit amazed that those words just came out of his mouth, too. But, he doesn’t take them back. He knows from experience that the best way to follow up an outrageous statement is to see it through to the end. So, he just keeps looking at Winwin, who’s staring at him like he just confessed that he’s leaving SM to become a competitive bass fisher.

After a moment, Winwin’s eyes narrow into a glare. He scrunches his face up and says, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Yuta insists. “I can help, if you want me to.”

Winwin’s expression eases up, but he stays quiet. Yuta understands. He wouldn’t really know what to do if propositioned like this by Jaehyun or Taeyong or anyone either.

Still, it’s late, and Winwin looks overheated and stressed. So, Yuta says, “Come on,” and reaches a hand out over the gap that separates their beds.

Winwin stares at his palm like he’s never seen a hand before.

Yuta wiggles his fingers and coaxes, “You’ll feel better afterwards. And I want to help.”

That’s always been the truth, when it comes to Winwin. This is a level above what Yuta usually offers though, and maybe even a level above what Winwin can accept.

So Yuta waits, still and quiet. He watches Winwin’s eyes dart from his outstretched hand to his face to his bare stomach and then down to his ankles, still tangled in the blanket. There they linger, before tracing the lines of his body up and back again.

Yuta watches all this and doesn’t move or grin or tease. Instead, he relaxes, keeping his body soft and open under Winwin’s gaze.

Where this goes is up to Winwin, but Yuta can at least show that he means no harm.

Winwin meets his eyes again, and his stare is dark and unreadable, his cheeks flushed even redder than before. He still hasn’t unfurled himself from his blanket cocoon.

No good? Well, Yuta probably should’ve expected Winwin to prefer boiling himself to death under the pressure of his own sexual frustration rather than letting Yuta help him out.

Yuta sighs and brushes his sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He’s beginning to compose a response that will allow both of them to gracefully bow out of this situation and also keep Winwin from avoiding him for the rest of time, when—

Winwin throws off his blanket and leaps the gap between their beds. He’s so quick that Yuta doesn’t even register what’s happening until he sees the blanket flutter to the ground and feels Winwin’s weight pinning his legs to the mattress.

Yuta slowly draws his hand back, suddenly unsure if this isn’t some strange summer dream that he’s having. But he doesn’t think his brain could come up with this: Winwin straddling his thighs, his cock a curved line against his stomach, the dark tip poking out of the hem of his underwear.

It isn’t until Winwin catches his wrist that Yuta even realizes that he was reaching for him.

“Don’t touch me,” Winwin says. He leans forward, pulling Yuta’s arm up until he’s pressing his hand into the pillow above his head. After a second, he grabs Yuta’s other wrist, too, for good measure.

“How am I going to help you without my hands?” Yuta asks, raising an eyebrow. They’re face to face now, Winwin hovering above him, and Yuta can practically feel his arousal like a heater blasting warmth onto his lower belly.

Winwin presses his lips together, conflicted. He stares down at Yuta for another moment before averting his gaze.

Yuta arches his back a little, just enough to brush his stomach against the front of Winwin’s underwear. Winwin flinches, and Yuta quickly lets his hips fall back to the mattress.

Was that too much? Yuta glances up, worried. Winwin’s expression is tense, his eyes searing into Yuta’s flesh.

But, in the end, Winwin just says, “Don’t talk either.”

Alright. That’s fine, too. Yuta winks in agreement and relaxes into the bed. Winwin exhales shakily, pulling some of his weight back, before shifting around carefully and starting to rearrange Yuta’s limbs to his satisfaction.

Yuta keeps himself boneless, moving where Winwin pulls him. Though he usually takes the lead when it comes to their interactions, he doesn’t mind letting Winwin drive this one. He knows how valuable control is when you’re feeling vulnerable.

So, this is where Yuta ends up, lying underneath Winwin while he kneels between his spread legs and grinds his cock against the sensitive skin below his navel. Winwin’s holding both of Yuta’s wrists down with one hand, the other tangled in his tank top, rucked up to his armpits. He’s pressing the bunched fabric into the bed, ensuring that Yuta can’t move his arms or shoulders while he rubs against him.

Yuta tenses his abdomen, trying to give Winwin a little more friction to work with, but he can tell by looking at Winwin’s face that this isn’t enough. Winwin’s cheeks are flushed, but his jaw is tense, and his brow is furrowed again. He’s smearing precome onto Yuta’s stomach and probably giving him some hard-to-explain fabric burn at the same time.

Winwin’s breaths start coming even faster, just as Yuta feels his heart rate picking up as well. He’s not comfortable per se, but there’s a hazy pleasure curling in the pit of his stomach nevertheless. The heat, the slickness across his belly, and Winwin’s face, so close to his—It works for him, that’s all. Yuta’s honest with his emotions, and his body is honest with him.

But then Winwin gets frustrated. Yuta has to fight back a gasp as Winwin jerks a knee against the underside of his thigh, using his body for leverage as he starts rutting against him so roughly that the bed starts creaking beneath them.

It’s not great. If Yuta didn’t know any better, he’d think that Winwin was trying to fuck a hole through his guts. But, this isn’t about him, so he tries to keep his expression as neutral as possible while Winwin chases his pleasure.

Though he’s obviously not doing a great job, since Winwin abruptly stops moving. After a second, Yuta feels a hand smoothing across his brow, and he opens his eyes. He doesn’t actually know when he closed them.

Winwin’s face is hovering several centimeters above his. He looks wrecked, his cheeks red, his hair askew and sweaty. But his aroused expression is tangled with concern.

“Yuta-hyung?” he whispers.

And—really. Winwin acts childish in some ways, but he is also mature and sweet at the most surprising times. It’s part of his irrepressible charm, and it never fails to make Yuta’s heart melt.

Still, this is a failure on Yuta’s part. He didn’t mean to bring Winwin’s mood down or make him worry. Of course, there’s an easy remedy to that, too.

Yuta glances up at Winwin through his bangs and starts singing, “Stop, baby, don’t stop. Don’t stop, baby, don’t—Ah!”

Yuta squeaks, his hips jerking upwards. Then he immediately glances towards Taeil’s bed. Taeil is a light sleeper, and Yuta doesn’t know how he could even start to explain what he’s doing with his precious Winwin in the middle of the night.

Thankfully, the lump on the bed doesn’t move. After another moment of observation, Yuta sighs, before turning an accusatory glare upon Winwin.

Winwin, however, doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he's blinking owlishly, his fingers still pinching Yuta’s nipple.

Yuta spends a second hoping that Winwin hasn’t noticed his momentary lapse, but then he sees the corner of Winwin’s lips twitch upwards.

Winwin lets go, only to start circling the nub with his thumb. The featherlight touch causes Yuta to push reflexively against Winwin’s grip before he can take a deep breath and force his body to relax again.

Winwin looks even more pleased with himself. “Yuta-hyung is sensitive,” he notes.

Brat. Yuta breathes out, resolutely not squirming or making any more embarrassing noises.

“Yeah,” he admits freely, pretending not to notice the way his nipple is perking up as Winwin plays with it like it’s a new game he’s enamored with. “But not as sensitive as you’re gonna be after spending all night trying to get off using my washboard abs,” he adds.

It might be a misstep, provoking Winwin like this under the circumstances, but Yuta just needs Winwin’s hand off his chest, and he needs it off now.

And Yuta’s not sure whether it’s the taunt or the shameless exaggeration that gets the job done, but Winwin does let go and sit back, frowning.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he repeats.

“I’m not, I’m not,” Yuta assures him. Then he pauses, considering. “Here, Winwin. Let’s try something different, alright?”

Winwin’s frown deepens, his grip on Yuta’s wrists tightening.

“I won’t touch you,” Yuta says quickly, “but you can—You—“

Yuta hesitates again, trying to find a way to phrase the explanation that won’t scare Winwin off.

In the end, Yuta just nudges Winwin’s thigh with his own, rubbing them together minutely. “If you sit like before,” he says slowly, “I can put my legs together, and then you can—“ Yuta wets his lips. Winwin’s gaze darts up and down again. “It’ll probably feel better than if we just—“

Yuta and Winwin have known each other for a couple years now. They’ve never relied totally on words to communicate, and they don’t need to now.

Yuta clamps his legs together, and Winwin slides his cock between his thighs. He still hasn’t let go of Yuta’s hands, so all Yuta can do is brace himself against the bed, his muscles strung tight as Winwin thrusts.

Ah. Yuta can feel the heat of Winwin’s dick through the thin cloth of his underwear. He’s so hot that it feels like he’s branding the skin of Yuta’s inner thighs. The burn should be uncomfortable, and yet Yuta can’t help but squeeze tighter and tighter as Winwin huffs hot air into the dip of his collarbone.

It tickles. Yuta probably shouldn’t find that as cute as he does, especially while Winwin is holding his wrists above his head and rutting against him. But, what can Yuta say? It’s Winwin.

And, yeah, this is better, this is definitely—Yes. The low noises Winwin makes every time he sheathes himself between Yuta’s thighs are proof of that.

Yuta is feeling pretty good about having demonstrated why he’s worthy of the title of oppa once again. However, he’s also feeling pretty good because of a different, more troublesome reason.

Winwin’s divested himself of his underthings, having apparently decided that his immediate comfort takes priority over any long term embarrassment over Yuta getting an eyeful. Consequently, Yuta can feel the long, slick heat of him every time he pushes in, and he can also feel Winwin brushing against his balls, teasing the sensitive skin behind them and—

Well. Hopefully Winwin is too busy to notice the way Yuta’s arousal is beginning to swell against the front of his underwear.

The space between Yuta’s thighs is hot and wet, sticky with Winwin’s precome and burning with the pace of his thrusts. Winwin is bent so low that his hair is brushing against Yuta’s chin, and somehow even that is sending shocks of sensation down Yuta’s body, adding to the pleasure building in his gut.

Soon, Yuta’s thoughts go thick and syrupy, and all he knows is Winwin—Winwin’s breath against his skin, Winwin’s weight pinning him to the bed, Winwin’s cock between his legs, and Winwin’s moan, long and low, as he shudders, stills, and paints Yuta’s thighs.

It’s heat upon heat. Yuta throws his head back and grits his teeth, and that’s how he’s able to keep a hold of himself while Winwin’s spend sears his skin.

Winwin collapses to the side, neatly avoiding the mess he’s made on Yuta’s legs. He’s breathing hard, a furnace against Yuta’s neck, and he finally lets go of Yuta’s wrists, though he keeps his arm thrown across his chest.

It takes a moment for Yuta to register his freedom. Once his ability to think has recovered a little, he stretches his fingers, rotates his wrists, then starts carding his fingers through Winwin’s hair. He’ll wait until Winwin is calm and drowsy before booting him off to his own bed. Then, once he’s fallen asleep, Yuta will make a quick trip to the bathroom and take care of his own issue. He’ll probably be able to stand up by then.

Actually, is it normal for his legs to feel like jelly? Yuta hopes this won’t affect his dance practice.

Slowly, Winwin levers himself upright, and the drag of sweat-damp skin against skin makes Yuta want to curl his legs to his chest. Which he doesn’t. Enough of his body is covered with Winwin’s come as it is.

Winwin’s leaning over him now, looking like he’s just spent half an hour relaxing in the bath, apart from the sex hair.

Yuta wets his lips, confirming that he still has the ability to speak. “Alright?” he asks.

Winwin nods, then smiles brightly.

Cute.

“Good. That’s good.” Yuta says. He takes a deep breath, and then he shoves at Winwin lightly. “Well, it’s way past your bedtime now, so you better sleep, or Taeil-hyung will have to wake you up in the morning.“

But Winwin doesn’t move. In fact, it doesn’t even look like he’s listening to Yuta at all. He’s not focused on his face. Instead, he’s staring down at—

Yuta grabs the hem of his tank top and tugs it down quickly, until it’s hiding his entire crotch from view.

Winwin blinks. Then he finally turns his wide-eyed gaze to Yuta’s face.

“Go to bed, Winwin,” Yuta says, a little more sternly this time.

Winwin tilts his head to the side, pausing as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to understand basic Korean. Yuta reaches up to push him away again, and then—

Winwin bats his arms away and shoves his hand down the front of Yuta’s underwear.

It’s possible that Yuta tries to kick him. Honestly, he isn’t sure. He doesn’t have any control over his body anymore.

Winwin’s grip is hot and rough, drier than Yuta usually likes and clumsy in its unfamiliarity with his body. But, Winwin’s a quick learner and a good multitasker besides; as he adjusts to the angle, his other hand creeps up Yuta’s tank top and starts brushing against his nipple again. The combined sensations make Yuta squirm. He can feel Winwin’s come smearing all along the insides of his thighs as he rubs his legs together.

Yuta’s hands have found their way to Winwin’s shoulders, fingers digging into the tight muscle there. Yuta doesn’t know when that happened. He probably wouldn’t notice if the rest of NCT burst into their room right now, too.

And his mouth must have fallen open at some point, because Winwin has finally decided to take mercy on his chest and is now carefully pushing his jaw shut.

Then Winwin leans down. He presses his lips to Yuta’s.

It’s just a touch. It feels just like a touch, the sort of deliberately intimate touch that Winwin is so rarely willing to initiate.

So, it’s enough to push Yuta over the edge.

When Yuta comes back to himself, trembling like he’s been trying out one of Johnny’s workouts, he sees Winwin staring at the pearly substance clinging to his fingertips, seemingly fascinated. But, when he notices Yuta watching, he shoots him a moue of disdain before wiping his hand on Yuta’s stomach, where the rest of Yuta’s spend is mixed with his precome.

And Yuta—Well, Yuta’s higher functions have not quite recovered yet. So all he does is lie there, boneless, as Winwin examines the mess they’ve made of him, belly and thighs splattered with come, one nipple still peeking out under the hem of his tank top.

Winwin doesn’t look away even as Yuta’s breathing starts to slow, and it’s only when Yuta whispers a hoarse “Winwin?” does he seem to realize that he’s still staring.

Winwin's eyes meet Yuta's, just for a moment, before darting away. He opens his mouth, pausing as if searching for the right words. And Yuta waits, but in the end, Winwin doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up and pulls his underwear back on. Then he grabs Yuta’s blanket and covers him from feet to neck, before rolling back onto his own bed, hugging his pillow to his chest.

Yuta blinks, then turns his head, staring at Winwin’s back.

After a moment, he hears a muffled “Goodnight, Yuta-hyung.”

Ah, so now Winwin’s embarrassed. What a cutie. He is right that any discussion about what just happened can wait for morning, though, when they're both alert and ready for a conversation. What matters now is that Winwin's finally comfortable, and they're both ready to sleep.

Yuta smiles, drowsy, and says, “Goodnight.”

The night is long, and he doesn’t dream.


End file.
